Falling Man
by xoleanderx
Summary: “Then he saw Dean and almost stopped breathing.” ‘What Is and What Never Should Be’ from Sam’s point of view. Protective!Angsty!Sam and Slightly Hurt!Dean. OneShot.


**Summary:** "Then he saw Dean and almost stopped breathing." 'What Is and What Never Should Be' from Sam's point of view. Protective!Angsty!Sam and Slightly Hurt!Dean.

**Author's Notes:** It's been done before, but here's my spin on it. Protective!Angsty!Sam and Slightly Hurt!Dean ensue. Beware, some language.

**Spoilers:** Obvious spoilers from the episode, but nothing more.

**Disclaimer:** If it were mine, Sam would be in a perpetual state of limpness, and Dean, a perpetual state of angst. Therefore, it is not mine. (dramatic sigh)

**Falling Man**

Sam rested his elbow on the scratched faux-wood table, chewing on his thumbnail in a seemingly absent-mindedly manner. His tired eyes scanned the old yellow page of the large book before him, taking in the rough sketches of the Djinn drawn, soaking in every bit of information his brain could process. Incase Dean called for help, he would be completely prepared. If Dean called at all.

His eyes wandered away from the papers, traveling warily over towards the digital alarm clock on the bedside table. Dean had called to say he was going to investigate around ten o'clock, and it was currently… eleven fifty. Sam's stomach did a little flip flop at how late it had gotten – Dean should have called, _would_ have called by now.

Sam reached for his phone, pressing speed dial one for his brother's and holding it up to his ear as it rang once, twice, three times, six times and clicked into his voicemail. _This is Dean Winchester, leave a message_.

Sam's stomach turned again. No need to freak out though – not yet anyway. Maybe his phone had run out of battery, or lost service. It's not like there was great reception in old empty buildings or wherever Dean had went. At least that's what he kept telling himself the past three times Dean hadn't picked up.

"Hey it's me again," Sam started, standing up from his chair and pacing a little around the room, tried to keep from sounding too panicked, "I'm just wondering where you are, ah, I'm getting," _really fucking freaked out_, "a little worried here, Dean, so just call me back, okay?"

Eleven fifty-three, almost two hours, and Dean hadn't called. A sharp sense of dread clawed at Sam's stomach. His brother was probably fine, and would roll his eyes at Sam's concern, but it didn't matter because _Dean hadn't called_, and so Sam grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him.

-

Sam could almost _hear_ Dean, _"Thatta boy Sammy,"_ as he stalked through the parking lot, metal rod in hand. He'd only stolen a car once before – again, to save Dean, but no, Dean didn't need saving, because people only needed saving when they were in trouble or hurt and _Dean was fine_. He was missing and he hadn't called but he was fine and they would laugh about this later.

A small blue Honda Accord was parked in the back of the lot, and Sam did a few double-glances over both shoulders before quickening his pace. He slid the rod into the little slot under the window, jamming it around before there was a faint click and the shrill wailing of the car's alarm.

He quickly reached for the handle, and had one foot halfway through the car door when a voice called out through the darkness. "Hey! _Hey!_ What are you doing?!" Sam's brain screamed _go! go!_ but he turned around as the manager of the motel ran forward, arms waving and _oh shit he had a rifle_. "Stop it right there!"

Sam bolted, his feet thumping against the pavement as he ran across the lot, diving through a bush and ending up on the concrete sidewalk on the other side. The manager was still yelling, and Sam sprinted down the street, turned a corner, ran some more, ducked into an alleyway, and then ran some more. He finally pulled to a stop, leaning himself against a brick building, heart thumping and breaths coming in pants. Okay. Time for plan B.

-

It took nearly forty minutes standing in the dark by the side of the road for someone to pull over and hesitantly roll down their window. Sam graciously took a few steps towards the sleek white car; close enough they could talk, but far away enough so as not to appear threatening. This could be his only chance.

"Need a ride?" called a deep voice, and Sam leaned down a little bit to glance through the window at the man inside.

"Yeah, are there, ah, any old abandoned buildings around here?" Sam asked, trying to sound nonchalant, like this wasn't a weird question to be asking, like his brother wasn't missing and possibly dying _right now_.

The man frowned, confusion and doubt evident on his worn features. "Why?"

There wasn't enough time to think of a convincing lie. Dean needed him _now_. "My brother's missing and I think he might be there."

If the man thought this was an odd response, he didn't show it, simply unlocked the door and motioned for Sam to get in. "There's an old warehouse a few miles away," he noted, rolling up the window as Sam slid into the seat. "Paper factory used to use it for storage, but it closed down years ago." He revved on the gas, pulling back onto the road.

"Thanks," Sam said, his knee bouncing in apprehension as he glanced at the clock. Twelve thirty-six. Two and a half hours and Dean hadn't called. "I really appreciate it."

"What's your brother doin' at an old warehouse anyway?" the man asked, a slight suspicion in his voice as he cast a fleeting look at Sam.

Sam glanced down at his hands for a brief moment before returning his gaze forward and giving a noncommittal shrug. "Uh, I dunno."

"So how do you know he's even there?"

Sam clenched his fists, "I just – I know – can you just take me there please?"

The man paused, raising his eyebrows, before leaning back in his seat and focusing on the road once more. "Sure thing, kid."

-

Sam's knees went weak with relief when he caught sight of the familiar Impala parked outside the building. He thanked the man profusely, refusing offers for help, and not waiting to watch him drive away as he ran silently towards the entrance. There was a large door hanging off its hinges, and all Sam could see was darkness. Cursing himself for not bringing a flashlight, he stepped inside, ducking slightly as his nose was met with the smell of rust and decay.

"Dean?" he hissed, almost a whisper. Dean probably wouldn't be able to hear him anyway, but just saying his brother's name made Sam feel a little bit better.

A beam of light was shining from the floor on the other side of the main room, and Sam approached cautiously, seeing with slowly increasing fear that it was a small flashlight – _Dean's flashlight_. Picking it up, Sam scanned the ground, light reflecting off a blade a few feet away. He knelt down, examining the knife: silver and dipped in lamb's blood – the only way to kill a Djinn.

Sam picked it up, heart beating a little faster. Something had happened to Dean – yes he'd suspected it ever since he left the first worried message on Dean's phone. But there'd still been a little inkling of hope in the back of his mind that Dean was okay… But seeing his brother's flashlight and knife sitting alone on the ground only confirmed his worst fears about what could have happened.

Standing up, Sam walked quickly and stealthily through the warehouse, his mind only halfway worrying about the Djinn – his main thought was _Dean, Dean, Dean_, like a mantra. He suddenly froze, the light landing on something large and unmoving, hanging from the ceiling. Blood rushing in his ears, he inched forward, realizing with horror that it was a body, most of the skin rotted away, leaving only a skeleton behind. An IV pole was placed next to the corpse, the bag filled with a small amount of blood.

Backing away in disgust, Sam jumped as he collided with something and he whipped around in panic. It was another body, this one less decomposed than the other. It was a man, his eyes half-mast and unseeing, mouth open slightly, skin grey and cracked. Sam turned away, revolted.

Then he saw Dean and almost stopped breathing.

His brother was hanging, suspended from the ceiling by thick rope around his wrists, facing slightly away from him, not moving, _too_ _still_. From here, Sam couldn't see if his eyes were opened or closed, only that he was limp and there was an IV _draining blood_ from his neck, draining blood from his brother and _oh god he's not moving_.

Sam tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife, rushing forward towards his brother's body – no, his_brother_, Dean wasn't dead, he _wasn't_ – when all of a sudden loud, heavy footsteps clanged from the rusty metal staircase above. Sam hurriedly dove to the side, dropping into a low crouch behind a large stack of cardboard boxes, eyes peering over to watch the Djinn descend.

Dean suddenly started stirring and Sam felt his heart leap, and he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A soft moan came from his brother, and he swayed slightly in his chains as the Djinn, with glowing blue eyes, slowly walked towards Dean. Sam's heart clenched as the Djinn raised a hand towards Dean's face, glowing bright blue to match his irises, and touched Dean's cheek, almost gently, like a caress. Sam's hands twitched, angry and unnerved to see Dean so vulnerable.

"Sleep," the Djinn cooed, like comforting a crying child, his voice oddly human in a way that sent chills down Sam's spine. Almost immediately, Dean stilled, head dropping and body becoming flaccid once more.

The Djinn reached for a tube connected to Dean's IV bag, and Sam's eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was going to do a second before he did it. The Djinn opened his mouth, squirting Dean's blood onto his tongue and swallowing greedily. Sam suppressed a gag as he watched helplessly, mixing emotions of rage and terror surging through him.

Sam looked around desperately; he needed to get the Djinn away from his brother. But would he risk attacking? The Djinn was too close to Dean – and what if killing it would hurt Dean? Eyes scanning the ground frenetically, Sam grabbed the first thing he saw – an old rusty nail a few inches away – and threw it with all his strength onto the upper balcony. It worked – a small clang sounded from upstairs and the Djinn stopped, eyes flying towards the stairs. Sam's heart clenched and he stared with baited breath, until finally the Djinn walked towards the staircase, climbing up.

As soon as the Djinn was out of sight, Sam launched himself out from behind the boxes, running towards his brother. "Dean!"

Dean's skin was ashen, body hanging lifelessly. His eyes were slightly rolled back in his head, lids half closed and lips parted slightly. Panic thumped at Sam's heart – he had never seen Dean like this, this still and silent and grey and_dead_, and it scared him.

"Dean!" he tried again, reaching out to grasp at Dean's jacket. His yell echoed in the dim, grey light of the warehouse. "Dean." There was no response from his brother, and Sam took a sharp intake of breath, eyes scanning Dean's face, fear filling his insides like ice. _Nonononono_. "C'mon," he shook Dean's shoulder, "Wake up." He tried again, voice hardening with the authoritative tone their father used to use. "_Wake up damn it_." Sam didn't actually expect it to work, but Dean suddenly shuttered, giving a small gasp as his eyes tried to regain focus, rolling in their sockets.

"Hey, hey," Sam said softly, moving his head to try to catch Dean's eye, to get Dean to look at him, to let him know that he was okay. Dean had to be okay – he was always okay.

Dean finally seemed to realize that Sam was there, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips for a split second as recognition settled in, and gazed silently at him for a moment. Sam could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. "Auntie Em," his brother rasped at last, his voice sounding like sandpaper, and blinked slowly. "There's no place like home…"

Sam wanted to cry with relief, but he couldn't because he could hear the Djinn moving around up there and Dean was hanging from the ceiling and didn't seem all the way_there_. "Thank god," he breathed, reaching for the needle in Dean's neck, and pulling it out as gently as possible. "I thought I'd lost you for a second."

"You almost did," Dean winced and Sam paused for a split second as a lump formed in his throat and his heat skipped a beat. But no, the time to talk was later; he needed to get Dean out of here _now_. Reaching up with the bloodied knife, Sam started to saw fervently at the ropes coiled around Dean's wrists. He was almost done when his brother yelled.

"Sam!"

Hands reached toward him, glowing blue to match the eerie brightness of the Djinn's eyes. Sam was strong, he knew he was strong, but the Djinn was stronger, and he felt his stomach fill with dread as he was shoved into a corner. The Djinn's hands reached for him, and Sam struggled weakly, preparing for the inevitable. He didn't rescue his brother – he failed.

Suddenly, the Djinn shuddered and arched back, revealing Dean behind him, knife embedded in the back of the creature. As the genie fell, Sam looked up, meeting Dean's eyes as a silent conversation passed between them.

_You okay?_

_Yeah. You?_

_Fine._

Dean looked like he was ready to pass out, and Sam yearned to reach for him, but he restrained himself. His brother was already walking away, swaying away, and Sam hurried after, heart still racing from adrenaline. Concern filled him – where was Dean going? Sam wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around his brother; to convince himself that he was still _there_, but he didn't, simply followed. Dean stopped in front of a girl – she couldn't be more than eighteen – reaching for her with trembling arms.

Sam cut the ropes and the girl fell, Dean catching her, and whispering that everything was okay – they were going to get her out of there, get her safe. Sam stared, watching his brother in an uncharacteristic tender moment. He wanted to whisper those words of comfort to his brother, wanted to take the pain away. When would Dean stop playing the hero and let someone take care of _him_? Five minutes ago he was hanging from the ceiling, and now he was rescuing someone else, never unable to play the role of the hunter, the savior.

Letting his brother lead the way, Sam trailed after Dean to the Impala, opening the door to allow him to slide into the backseat, the girl still in his arms. Peering at his brother from the rearview mirror, Sam could see the pain in his eyes, and he turned away from the raw emotion emanating from him, shifting, with a sigh, the gear into drive, spraying dust and gravel into the air as he pealed away.


End file.
